


Ask

by dragonQuill907



Series: Smithslock Oneshots [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, John is too, Johnlock - Freeform, Language of Flowers, M/M, Sherlock is smitten, Sherlock wears flower crowns, Shy Sherlock, Uni!lock, flowershop au, terrible flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonQuill907/pseuds/dragonQuill907
Summary: Sherlock Holmes works alone at Hudson Florals, arranging bouquet after bouquet for boring, predictable people. There's only one customer who ever catches his eye: John Watson.Based on the song "Ask" by The Smiths.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm obsessed with both The Smiths and Sherlock, I'm combining the two to make... whatever this is. Each fic is a oneshot that is based on a song by The Smiths.
> 
> Requests for AUs (femlock, teenlock, soulmates, whatever) are welcome because these are going to be kind of random.
> 
> Also, feedback fuels me so leave kudos and maybe a comment? :)
> 
> This was basically just an excuse for me to write a flowershop AU because I really love flowers. It turned out way longer than I thought it would, so. Yeah. This is it!
> 
> Thanks to @EmmaLockWrites for being an awesome beta as usual!!

This fanfiction is based on the song "Ask" by The Smiths. The lyrics are [here](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/smiths/ask.html) and the song itself is [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zoo9Vu1a9bU)

 

* * *

 

 

Hudson Florals had been open for nearly twenty years when Sherlock started working there. Mrs. Hudson, the widow who owned the shop, needed help around the place ever since her hip went out two years before. Luckily, Sherlock’s mother and Mrs. Hudson had been friends in university, and the twenty-something had gotten the job without much fuss. Eventually, he began to spend more time in the shop that at home, studying the origin and meaning of every flower they carried. Spending warm summer days indoors wasn’t so bad when Sherlock only had one or two friends to begin with. Most days, it was just Sherlock and the flowers, and that was all right.

Sherlock was just finishing up the final touches of his latest arrangement when the door to the shop opened, the chime catching his attention almost immediately. Gingerly setting down a sprig of baby’s breath, Sherlock made his way to the front of the shop.

"Hello, and welcome to Hudson Florals," he recited absently, wiping his hands on the bright yellow apron he was forced to wear. The sole employee only looked up as he reached the counter, and his gaze settled on one of the most interesting - and,  _ ahem, _ handsome - people he’d seen all week. "Um. Can I help you look for anything in particular today?

"Er, maybe," the customer replied, smiling uncomfortably. He was shorter than Sherlock but definitely older, and his thin lips were stretched across straight teeth. "It’s my mum’s birthday? Well, yes, it is. It’s my mum’s birthday, and I’ve no idea what to get her."

Sherlock took a moment to take in the stranger’s dusty blond hair and blue eyes before replying, "I’d imagine flowers would be convenient, considering you’re already here."

The man’s smile widened for just a moment before his eyes traveled upwards to Sherlock’s dark hair.

"Are those daisies?" he asked casually, and Sherlock felt his cheeks pinken.

"Oh, I- Yes," he replied, adjusting the crown with one hand self-consciously, having forgotten which one he’d picked that morning. "They’re not real, of course. Mrs. Hudson would have my head if I used her flowers to make…  _ this _ silly little thing."

"Of course," the stranger replied. "I don’t think you need that to make yourself pretty, though." His kind eyes never left Sherlock’s blushing face; they reminded him of forget-me-nots, and wasn’t that just embarrassing?

"Oh. Your mother’s birthday," Sherlock blurted, shaking the thought out of his head. He left his refuge behind the counter and turned to one of the refrigerated cases next to it, suddenly uncomfortable under the man’s admiring gaze. "May I suggest carnations? They’re always a hit amongst mothers."

The stranger nodded, and, as Sherlock reached for the white carnations, blurted, "I- um, actually, could I take the yellow ones?"

Sherlock turned to the man and scrunched up his nose. "No," he said, "definitely not."

"What?" the customer questioned, his small smile returning. Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken and turned back to his flowers. "Why not?"

"Nature is a language," Sherlock replied easily, still facing away from John. "Can’t you read?"

The man laughed, filling the shop with his amusement. "I can’t read flowers, no."

Sherlock frowned. "Obviously not. Yellow carnations mean  _ disdain, _ and I hardly think you feel such things for your mother. I think  _ my _ mother would skin me alive if I showed up at hers with  _ yellow carnations, _ birthday or no."

"All right. What do white carnations mean, then?" the stranger asked, grinning and pointing towards the display.

"That the person you’re giving them to is sweet or lovely," Sherlock answered. "Again, always a hit amongst mothers. If you could just pick a vase on that wall over there…"

"Oh, right, yeah," the man replied. "How long do you usually keep the stems?"

"Three inches longer than strictly necessary," Sherlock replied, setting down a half-dozen  _ white _ carnations on the countertop next to the register. "Any of the vases there should be all right."

Not even a minute had passed before the stranger presented Sherlock with a frosted glass cylinder, a small smile on his face.

"I hate to be a bother, but is there any way we could add some color to that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I could add some lisianthus if you’d like."

"Uh, yellow, if you have it," the man said. "If it doesn’t mean something like ‘ugly’ or ‘terrible mother’ or ‘I hope you die a horrible, painful death.’"

"Lisianthus means appreciation in general," Sherlock replied, plucking several sprigs of lisianthus from one of the cases. Cool air shifted his curls as he let the door fall shut.

"Do you know the meaning of all the flowers in your shop?" asked the blond man.

"And most of the ones that aren’t."

"That’s brilliant," the man replied, grinning.

"That’s basic memorization," Sherlock said, his eyebrows furrowing. "That’s nothing. Would you like to see  _ something?" _

The stranger raised an eyebrow. "Amaze me."

Sherlock began to trim the flower stems as he recited, "Good relationship with your grandfather, not so much your father. Currently single, living alone. I’d say you have a dog, but considering its size, it seems more likely that it’d belong to a parent or sibling. If I had to guess, I’d say sibling. Those jeans are worn in  _ entirely _ the wrong places, so they’re an old pair, and your weight has fluctuated. You carry yourself confidently, so it’s not a negative change for you."

"That’s brilliant!" the blond exclaimed, grinning. 

"You think so?" Sherlock asked, glancing up at the man curiously.

The stranger nodded enthusiastically. "Of course it was! It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary."

"Was I right?"

"Yes, all of it!" the man said. "Gained half a stone of muscle playing rugby in uni, lost it, gained back a few pounds. ‘S all the same to me. But it’s my mum’s dog. Sister’s allergic."

Sherlock scowled. "There’s always something."

The man’s grin widened as Sherlock pieced together his bouquet. He leaned against the counter as Sherlock worked, watching his steady hands cut stems and arrange leaves. Sherlock glanced up every now and then, only to have his eyes met by dark blue ones. Every time, he blushed and returned to his work a bit more distractedly.

He was tying a bright yellow bow around the vase when the stranger spoke.

"My name is John, by the way," he said, grinning. "John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes."

John smiled as he paid. "Well, Sherlock Holmes," he said, "I think you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. The flowers are nice, too."

"Oh- um. I-" Sherlock stammered, ducking his flower crown-clad head shyly. "Thank you."

"No worries," John replied. He glanced down at the flowers in his hand. "Sweet and lovely, you said?"

Sherlock nodded, and his heart stuttered as John plucked a single carnation from his bouquet and grinned. Their fingers brushed as Sherlock delicately took the flower from John’s outstretched hand.

"That’s for you, then."

John shot Sherlock one last smile before exiting the shop, the door chiming cheerily. The florist went into the back room, quietly berating himself.

_ Shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to. _

Sherlock bit his lip as he tied a white ribbon around the arrangement he'd been working on when John had walked in the shop, wondering exactly  _ what _ he’d wanted to do.

\---------

A month later, John Watson walked into Hudson Florals once again, this time looking for an arrangement for his sister.

Sherlock was finishing up with another customer when he heard the door chime. He smiled at John as the woman in front of him paid for her arrangement and wished Sherlock a good day.

"Hello," he greeted, totally ignoring the woman as she walked out the door. "Welcome back to Hudson Florals. What can I do for you today, John?"

John grinned and strode up to the counter. "Afternoon, Sherlock. Sister’s wedding anniversary. Do you have anything pink?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Nothing that would accurately describe the sentiment behind a flower arrangement needed for this occasion, and-"

"Sherlock," John replied, "I just want pink because it’s her least favorite color."

"Oh," Sherlock replied, blushing slightly. "All right. Well, roses are dreadfully common."

"That’s perfect, then," John said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "And what do pink roses mean?"

"Grace," Sherlock replied.

"Grace? Really?" John laughed. "That’s even better. I’ll just have a dozen or so pink roses, if that’s all right with you. And I’ll just pick out a vase?"

Sherlock nodded and extracted the requested flowers from one of the refrigerated cases, and John picked out a vase. The blond placed the chosen vase on the counter and waited patiently for Sherlock to pick out the best roses for his arrangement.

"Your relationship with your sister is…"

"Not great," John replied, "but I like her wife."

"Obviously. Hence the flowers," Sherlock said, laying the flowers on the counter.

"Hence the flowers," repeated John, smiling softly. The expression grew as he continued, "You know, I don’t see her problem with the color pink. I like it. Looks good on you especially."

As if on command, Sherlock’s face flushed to match the pink flowers that decorated his dark brown curls.

"Um," he said. "Thanks. You- Your sister. You said she has a wife?"

"Uh, yeah," John said slowly. He straightened suddenly, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock over the counter. "Wait, this shop isn’t, like- Is that gonna be a problem?"

"No, no," Sherlock assured quickly. "We’re not- It’s all fine."

John nodded thoughtfully. "All right. Good. That’s good. So why’d you ask?"

"Oh. It’s another flower thing. You don’t want to-"

"I do," John insisted. "I want to hear it. You can tell me."

Sherlock smiled faintly as he said, "Well, lesbians in the 1920s sort of gave each other violets so much that it became a symbol for woman/woman relationships. I just- I thought, since your sister and her wife are celebrating their wedding…"

"If there’s something you’d like to try, I won’t say no," John said, licking his lips. 

Sherlock didn’t know if John did it out of habit or if it meant something else, but he blushed either way.

"Okay," he said, nodding slowly. "I’ll just… get some more flowers."

Sherlock felt John’s eyes on his back as he gathered handfuls of violets and baby’s breath. He nearly shivered under the man’s attention, and he found himself craving more. His - admittedly tame - fantasies of the blond all came rushing back to him at once. Ever since John had entered the shop last month, Sherlock hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

He had thought that, had John stayed longer, the blond would’ve asked him for coffee. Perhaps if Sherlock hadn’t been so aloof, John would’ve inquired after his work hours and taken him to dinner. Sherlock would have settled for a walk, holding hands whilst strolling down Baker Street. He would’ve celebrated a damn mobile number exchange, for God’s sake, but he hadn’t even managed  _ that _ much.

"What do those mean?" John asked, startling Sherlock away from his thoughts.

"What?" Sherlock replied stupidly.

"The baby’s breath," John clarified, pointing to the white flowers. "That’s what it is, right?"

"Oh, yes. It means  _ everlasting love." _

John huffed in amusement and smirked. "At least some of it will be heartfelt, yeah?"

"Yes, I suppose."

The silence that stretched between them then was almost tangible. Sherlock thought about putting it in the bouquet; John could take it away so Sherlock never had to suffer through it again.

_ Ask me, _ Sherlock thought almost violently,  _ to coffee, dinner - anything! Ask me, ask me, ask me! _

The bouquet was finished in record time, violets and baby’s breath nestling against pale pink roses. Sherlock tied a perfect bow around the vase with white ribbon and turned it towards John, who smiled brightly without even looking at it.

"Perfect," he praised, holding Sherlock hostage with a lazy, appreciative gaze. "So are the flowers. They’re absolutely lovely."

"Um. Yes. Well, there you are," Sherlock stammered, hating himself more with every word that fell out of his mouth.

John smiled, paid, and opened his mouth to speak when his mobile went off. He dug it out of his pocket and frowned.

"Damn. I was supposed to meet them for lunch twenty minutes ago." He looked up at Sherlock, still frowning slightly. "I have to go."

"Goodbye, John," Sherlock said, more disappointed than he could remember ever being. "I hope to have you back soon."

"Yeah. I- Me too." He glanced down at the bouquet in his arms. "Grace, love, and lesbians, you said?"

Sherlock chuckled. "More or less.”

John nodded once, definitively, and pulled a rose from the bunch, handing it to Sherlock with a charming grin. Sherlock’s fingertips tingled pleasantly at the site of contact with John’s tan skin.

"That’s for you," John said. He gestured towards Sherlock’s pink flower crown. "It’s perfect. It matches the ones in your hair. So, Sherlock, I-" John was cut off abruptly as his phone rang again. He sighed. "I really have to go. I’ll- I’ll see you, all right?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "Until next time, John."

The blond grinned. "Until next time."

Sherlock stood completely still as the door chimed, signaling John’s departure from the shop. His eyes remained glued to the pale pink rose clutched delicately in one hand.

\---------

Sherlock nearly jumped for joy when John Watson walked into Hudson Florals for the first time in almost three months. He had somewhat gotten over his infatuation - or, at least, he thought he had - during the time he had not seen John, but as he took in John’s purposeful stride and determined features, he couldn’t help but feel a happy trill of excitement shoot through his body.

_ Ask me,  _ Sherlock thought, even as it became apparent that John was far more upset than flirtatious.

"Hello," Sherlock said quietly. "Welcome back to Hudson Florals."

"Afternoon, Sherlock," John replied shortly, his lips pursed. "I need you to make me the most passive-aggressive bouquet of flowers humanly possible.

Sherlock nodded, his brows furrowed. "Why?"

"My girlfriend - ex-girlfriend, now - is a lying cheat," explained the blond, a dangerous smile gracing his features. "Has been for the last month, I guess."

"Oh," Sherlock said, the thought of John dating someone else leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "I- all right."

John nodded only once. "Thank you."

Sherlock nodded back before gathering all he needed to make John’s… anti-bouquet. He laid out yellow, white, and red flowers, smirking to himself at the implication of the last selection. John paced in front of the counter, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You’re not simply giving her the anti-bouquet, are you?" Sherlock asked idly, piecing together his arrangement in the simple vase John had picked.

John laughed. "No. No, I’m giving her the flowers, taking her to a posh restaurant, eating whatever I bloody well please, telling her what the flowers mean, and sneaking out the bathroom window before I have to pay for any of it."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock’s lips as his eyes flicked up to meet John’s. At Sherlock’s amused expression, John grinned widely.

"What do the white ones mean?"

"Hydrangeas," Sherlock replied. "Dispassion."

"And the roses? Don’t yellow roses mean something like ‘friendship and goodwill?’" John asked, leaning on the counter. "I remember seeing those at my cousin’s wedding." 

Sherlock shook his head. "Infidelity."

"Not particularly suited for a marriage ceremony," John laughed.

"No, not particularly," agreed Sherlock.

John hummed in response, his eyes focused on Sherlock’s working fingers. "What about the red ones, then?"

"Scarlet geraniums," Sherlock answered. He flashed a grin at the man in front of him before explaining, "Stupidity. And before you ask, these smaller yellow ones are Carolina jasmine." At John’s raised eyebrow, Sherlock continued, "Separation."

"Perfect for Mary, then," John replied, smiling back.

Not for the first time, Sherlock blushed under John’s attention. He tied a white ribbon around the vase and presented it to John with a small flourish.

"I doubt she’ll appreciate the anti-bouquet," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "If more people would pay attention to the meaning of such things, I believe flowers could become a much more common and efficient mode of communication."

John chuckled into his fist. "Next time I come in, I’ll talk to you in flowers."

"Next time?" Sherlock asked. John’s arrangement was done. There was no reason for them to be leaning on the counter, close enough to count eyelashes and breathe the same air. John was still there, but there had been seventy-seven days where he had not been. "Will there be a next time?"

John screwed up his lips before nodding decidedly. Sherlock couldn’t help but watch the expression curiously.

"Yeah," the blond said. "There will be."

“And what happened to ‘I’ll see you?’” Sherlock asked, straightening uncomfortably.

“I’m seeing you now,” John said with an awkward smile. At Sherlock’s lack of response, the blond sighed and ducked his head. “All right, I was a dick,” he admitted. “But I didn’t have an excuse to buy more flowers, and then last month I met Mary, and we hit it off, and… I don’t know, all right? Obviously it was a stupid mistake.”

“Obviously,” the florist repeated.

John just nodded. “Anyway, I couldn’t come in here without flirting with you, and I couldn’t flirt with you while all that was going on, so I just… didn’t.”

Sherlock nodded finally. "All right," he replied, still unhappy. "I accept that excuse. You’ve got a girlfriend to break up with, and I’ve got a shop to run. Can hardly be standing ‘round all day staring at each other."

John smiled coyly, biting his bottom lip. "I don’t have a problem staring at something so pretty," he said. Sherlock, much to his dismay, couldn’t help but blush, and John frowned at the arrangement in front of him. "The flowers don't match you this time. Do you- Can I buy a single flower?"

Sherlock swallowed hard. "If you'd like to."

"And what sort of flower means 'ridiculously cute?'"

"Um."

"’Hot?’" John suggested. "No, there's probably not a flower for that. I'll go with 'beaut-'"

"What kind?" Sherlock interrupted.

"I'm sorry?"

"Elegant beauty, modest beauty, delicate beauty, et cetera."

John shook his head, a small smile playing with the corners of his lips. "You have forget-me-nots, here, right?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, blushing, "but I haven't been able to forget you."

John's smirk turned into a full-out grin in response to Sherlock’s admission. "I'll take one of those, then."

Sherlock obediently retrieved a single forget-me-not from one of the cooled cases and handed it to John, avoiding direct eye contact. He startled as he felt careful hands in his hair. 

John smiled, tucked the flower behind Sherlock's ear, and said, "You're not wearing a crown today."

"I'm not," Sherlock replied.

“Now you have your flower.”

John stood close to Sherlock, closer than they'd ever been before. Sherlock could feel John's body heat, and he thought for a ridiculous moment that they were close enough to kiss. He felt his face turn pink at the fantasy of John’s lips on his.

It was, eventually, John who broke their silence.

"I'll be back," he said. "I have to- It's not fair to you. I'll see you."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, John."

The blond nodded back, apparently satisfied with that answer. "I'll see you," he said, grabbing the vase and heading out the door. "I promise.”

“I’ll be here,” Sherlock replied. John held his gaze until the last moment, hurrying out the door and not looking back. Sherlock pursed his lips and began a new bouquet, one to hopefully decorate his admittedly drab-looking flat.

\---------

Twenty-four days later, John Watson strode into Hudson Florals with a piece of paper in his hand and a smile on his face. Sherlock grinned as he walked up to the counter and leaned over it suggestively.

“Welcome back,” Sherlock said quietly. “Um. Hello again.”

John’s smile widened. “Hi, gorgeous. Sorry it’s been a while. I like your flowers, though.”

Sherlock patted his roses self-consciously. They were blue and matched his eyes, and he’d been wearing them every day since John saw him last because he knew it made him look the best.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, smiling shyly. “Do you need anything?”

_ My number, _ Sherlock thought hopefully.  _ Ask me, ask me, ask me. _

“Yeah, yeah,” John said, holding up the sheet of paper. “I have a list, actually.”

“I see that,” Sherlock chuckled, taking the list from John’s fingertips.

 

  1. __Angelica flowers__
  2. _Heliotrope_
  3. _Carnations (pink, white)_
  4. _Alison flowers_
  5. _Hibiscus_
  6. _Lilacs_
  7. _Daffodils_
  8. _Hyacinths (white)_
  9. _Orchid_
  10. _Hawthorn flower_
  11. _Jonquil_
  12. _Peach blossom_
  13. _Forget-me-nots_
  14. _Pink dianthus_
  15. _Buttercups_
  16. _Roses (burgundy, purple, orange, pink, red)_
  17. _Tulips_



Sherlock frowned as he read the careful writing on cheap paper.

“This bouquet is going to be hideous,” he said. “And expensive. And… sickeningly sentimental.”

John laughed. “Really? That’s too bad. It’s for you, and, well, you deserve the best.”

Sherlock’s heart stuttered, and he read the list again, smiling to himself.

“This can’t be right.”

“Nature is a language,” John told him, his blue eyes sparkling. “Can’t you read?”

Sherlock ducked his head and blushed at the reminder of his own words. “You’ve gotten cleverer since I saw you last.”

John smirked. “I am sorry I took so long, you know. I had to get my shit together before finally asking you out.”

The florist’s eyes widened at John’s words. “Oh. If- If you want to take me out for coffee or dinner, or if there’s something you’d like to try,” he said, “you could just ask me. I won’t say no. How could I?”

John shrugged. “Because you’re you, and I’m me.”

“And that’s precisely why I like you,” Sherlock replied.

The blond leaned more heavily against the counter and pursed his lips, feigning deep thought. The two men were close, so blessedly close, and Sherlock could hear John’s steady breathing fill the silence between them. Sherlock’s heart was in his throat.

“So,” John eventually said, his breath ghosting across Sherlock’s lips, “if I wanted to try, dunno, kissing you…”

Sherlock’s pulse skyrocketed as John’s fingers encircled his wrist, his thumb stroking sensitive skin. Goosebumps broke out on Sherlock’s arms, and his eyelids fluttered as John’s other hand cupped his cheek. His eyes opened dazedly, only to be met with blue as deep as the darkest ocean.

“Ask me,” Sherlock whispered.

“Sherlock Holmes, can I kiss you?” John asked obediently, his lips brushing against Sherlock’s with every word.

“God, yes,” the florist replied. 

No sooner than the words had fallen out of Sherlock’s mouth, John was kissing him, pulling him impossibly close. Sherlock weaved his fingers through the short, sandy hairs on the back of John’s head, and John moaned quietly, dragging his tongue across Sherlock’s bottom lip. The florist gasped before replicating the movement, eager to explore more of John’s mouth. John parted his lips graciously, boldly stroking Sherlock’s tongue with his own.

The florist let out an undignified whine, which only encouraged John further. The blond shoved both of his hands into Sherlock’s hair, and,  _ oh,  _ John was about to find out exactly what  _ that _ did to him.

As Sherlock sighed in pleasure, a car door outside the shop slammed, and the two men jerked away from each other, breathing heavily. John’s hair was mussed up in the back, his pupils blown wide, and his lips red, kiss-swollen, and wet. Sherlock guessed that he looked mostly the same way.

Sherlock swallowed hard as John’s fingers traced his jaw.

“John?” he rasped.

“Dinner?” the blond asked, dragging his thumb across Sherlock’s bottom lip and biting his own. “Please, don’t say no.”

Sherlock blinked a few times before replying, “How could I?”

John grinned and asked, “Would it be terribly amiss if I bought you a flower?”

“Not at all,” Sherlock replied, smiling softly. “What are you looking for?”

“I think I’ll take a tulip and a dozen purple roses,” the blond replied easily. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, and he continued, “The roses are for dinner. You won’t get them until then.”

Sherlock chuckled quietly but obeyed John’s request, gathering a single white tulip and a dozen purple roses, along with an orange one for good measure. John frowned at the rogue flower, but Sherlock blushed and offered it to him shyly, delighted when the blond accepted it with a wide grin.

John very dramatically presented Sherlock with the white tulip and kissed him on the cheek before exiting the shop, beaming the whole while.

A warmth in Sherlock’s chest spread to his arms and legs, and he felt as if he were floating on air. He was still on cloud nine when he reread the bottom of John’s note.

_ Angelo’s, tonight, 7:00pm. Love, John _

Sherlock smiled to himself and set about sweeping the spotless floor in desperate need of something to curb his excited restlessness.

Only four hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-one seconds until his date with John.

\---------

  1. Angelica flowers - inspiration
  2. Heliotrope - devoted affection
  3. Carnations 
  4. Pink - unforgettable
  5. White - sweet and lovely
  6. Alison flowers - worth beyond beauty
  7. Hibiscus - delicate beauty
  8. Lilacs - first emotions of love
  9. Daffodils - new beginnings
  10. Hyacinths (white) - beauty
  11. Orchid - refined beauty
  12. Hawthorn flower - hope
  13. Jonquil - desire
  14. Peach blossom - you captivate me
  15. Forget-me-nots - forget me not
  16. Pink dianthus - pure love
  17. Buttercups - you are radiant with charm
  18. Burgundy Roses - unconscious beauty
  19. Purple Roses - enchantment
  20. Orange Roses - fascination
  21. Pink Roses - grace
  22. Red Roses - love
  23. Tulip - declaration of love



**Author's Note:**

> (All flower meanings were taken from Victoria's Dictionary of Flowers)
> 
> As I said, way longer than I thought it'd be. It was also really just wish-fulfillment because I love flowers and Sherlock in a flower crown makes me really emotional.
> 
> Also, I'm doing NaNoWriMo again this year. I was thinking of posting it here if people were interested. Maybe? It's not a fanfiction or anything. It's just kinda itself, and it's definitely nowhere near done. I thought maybe posting it here would be good because then people could actually read it. Would anyone be interested in that?


End file.
